


Bridget Lacey After the Mistletoe

by luxy27



Category: CHRISTIE Agatha - Works, Poirot - Agatha Christie, Poirot - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Crack Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Hastings is confused, Humor, I Don't Even Know, and shocked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxy27/pseuds/luxy27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events from The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding Bridget Lacey can't seem to forget Poirot... Or the kiss under the mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridget Lacey After the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this came about. I finished reading The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding and then I couldn't stop thinking about Bridget Lacey, who kissed Poirot under the mistletoe for no reason. What was she thinking? Why did she do this? 
> 
> I try to answer all these questions only I care about. Self indulgent crack-fic at its finest!

The boys didn’t really understand Poirot, Bridget thought. To them he seemed silly and nothing like a real detective should be, even after it was all over and he had shown them the truth. To be fair she had thought the same, until he had come to _her_ and then she had realised how marvellous he was.

 

She shivered in delight as the thrill of the previous night overcame her again. Poirot entering her bedroom, the candle flickering and illuminating his face, for a moment she had been terrified, his voice had lowered and he told her he knew of their plan. But then –oh then, he had asked her to play her part still, and would she like to play a joke on the boys, and help him solve a crime? The way his voice sounded when he said _“ma chérie”_. Bridget clutched her arms, looked upward, and let out a sigh of ecstasy as she flopped backward on to her bed.

 

Not for her were silly boys like Michael and Colin, no she realised now she wanted someone sophisticated, mature, and intelligent. Monsieur Poirot wasn’t so much older than her was he? It was not so unusual for an older gentleman to take a younger wife.

 

She would endeavour to make a lasting impression on him, and then she would make him see her as more than just a girl.

  

* * *

 

 

After the events at Christmas Poirot had not expected to hear from the Lacey family again, least of all young Bridget.

 

 _‘Ah mon dieu, what a wonderful young woman, though perhaps a bit too young for me,’_ Poirot thought with a wistful sigh.

 

But now not six months later, if he was not mistaken, the young lady ascending his steps was Bridget Lacey herself.

 

In a few moments Miss Lemon showed Bridget into the sitting room. Poirot careful brushed the non-existent crumbs from his jacket sleeve and stood to shake her hand.

 

“Mademoiselle Bridget, how charming to see you again, what brings you to me? There is nothing the matter?” He queried.

 

Bridget took his hand and glanced up demurely from beneath her hat.

 

“No no, nothing of the sort Monsieur, I was in the neighbourhood and thought to look you up.” Her voice was soft and charming, but not altogether honest, he thought.

 

Poirot gave her a sharp look, and watched colour flood her cheeks, though she held his gaze without looking away, Poirot immediately perceived the true reason she had come.

 

_‘Ah the young mademoiselle she labours under an infatuation.’_

He did not have the heart to be cruel so soon into their meeting, so gestured to the other chair.

 

“Would you care for some tea ma chérie?” He asked, he was rewarded with a quick smile as Bridget answered in the affirmative.

 

 _‘It will be a great pity to break her heart’_ Poirot thought sadly.

 

Once Miss Lemon had brought in the tea for Bridget and a Sirop for Poirot, Poirot drew Bridget into conversation and slowly led her to the real reason she had come to visit.

 

“Mon amie, you do not forget last Christmas do you?”

 

“Oh Monsieur how could I? It was quite the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me, and you were so magnificent and clever, and well after…” Here she trailed off her cheeks turning red.

 

“Yes after… Bridget, ma petite belle you are very young.”

 

“I’m eighteen sir, and I’ve finished school.”

 

“That is still very young.” He said gently. “You do not know what you want, you think now you want an old man, but you will soon change your mind.”

 

She stood up and faced him her hands in fists at her side. “It’s been six months and I have not changed my mind!” She said firmly, her eyes looking at him beseechingly.

 

“Please, let me find out for myself, unless...” She continued on uncertainly, her hands clenching and unclenching in a subconscious movement. “You do not care for me?” her face fell at the silence that followed her question.

 

“Oh… I see.”

 

Poirot could not bear to see the hurt on her face. He knew what he was about to say was selfish, and he would most likely end up heartbroken at the end of it all, but even then he could not stand to see her sad, not when he so very easily had the power to make both of them happy.

 

“Bridget you are very dear to me, but I am old and you are so very young. “

 

“Oh Monsieur, I knew you cared.” She said brightly as she reached forward and grasped his hand in hers. “Now I will persevere until you see I will not be swayed from this path.” She looked at him shrewdly.

 

“I believe sir you do not want me to change my mind, and I won’t, oh I won’t!”

 

“Ah mon amour I am convinced. You are very single minded hein?” Poirot smiled at her as he bought their clasped hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of Bridget’s hand, she smiled shyly in return.

 

“Well, now we will have to tell your Great-aunt, and my dear, I wonder what she will think of this.”

 

“I can’t think she will be very surprised, she told me after Christmas that I had become a woman without her noticing.” Bridget said knowledgeably.

 

“A remarkable woman and very sensible Mrs Lacey is.” Poirot remarked as he stood and drew Bridget closer to him.

 

“Oh, monsieur!”

 

“I think ma chérie you must call me Hercule if you intend to marry me.” Poirot said as he caressed her face gently.

 

“Oh, Hercule!” Bridget said obligingly, and then she brought her lips to his.

 

* * *

 

 

Captain Hastings was not surprised to receive a letter from Poirot; his very dear friend often wrote telling him of interesting cases and keeping him informed about the news in England.

 

He was however surprised to receive an invitation to the wedding of ‘Hercule Poirot and Bridget Lacey’.

 

“What!?!”

 

* * *

 

 

Captain Hastings stepped into the office of Hercule Poirot; he nodded politely to Miss Lemon and enquired after her health before stepping into the office proper.

 

The sight that greeted his eyes was a startling one; Poirot was seated on the settee his gaze fixed adoringly on a pretty young woman, who could not be a day over twenty if she was even that.

 

The young woman was pouring over a newspaper on the floor, and as Hastings entered the room he heard her exclaim.

 

“Hercule, what about the French Riviera?”

 

“Mon amour, wherever you wish. We could go further afield say visit Egyp…” He broke off at this point spotting Hastings who was frozen in the doorway.

 

“Hastings! Mon amie, you have arrived.” He leapt up from his seat and grasped Hasting’s shoulders kissing him in the continental style, he let go and beamed at the Captain, “Now let me introduce you to my fiancée Bridget.” He turned and beckoned the girl. She walked over and grasped Hastings’ hand in a sturdy grip.

 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you Captain Hastings; Hercule has told me so much about you. I feel as if I know you already.”

 

Hastings felt very bewildered, Poirot was marrying this girl? When he had learnt of Poirot’s upcoming nuptials he had imagined an older woman, someone very intelligent, not this girl who was barely out of childhood. How had this even happened? Hastings pushed all these thoughts aside and sought refuge in politeness.

 

“Charmed to meet you Miss Lacey.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
